


make believe

by bokutoma



Series: music, when soft voices die [5]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Nonbinary My Unit | Byleth, Other, am i sad about this? bitch maybe, does byleth mean anything outside of what they were born to be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2021-01-02 09:01:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21159041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bokutoma/pseuds/bokutoma
Summary: are they really the voice of a god?





	make believe

There comes a point in time where Byleth stops feeling real.

It shouldn’t be surprising; they have hardly ever been a person, at least in the traditional sense. Their heart has never beat in their chest, and they’ve cultivated armor in the same way Flayn cultivated weeds the last time she gardened: accidentally, consummately. Even when their former students had welcomed them back from the dead (even when they had crossed swords with Edelgard), there had been little more than a furrow of their brow.

It burns them like nothing else, this knowledge that they are not who their students think they are; they are exactly the first impression they’d given. Desperately, they crave reassurance, a promise that they can break through this thick, icy barrier that has frozen them out for so long.

Naturally, comfort like that can only come from one person.

Byleth’s heels click against the stone steels eerily, and they feel so empty it’s like drowning. Hands claw at their throat as the saltwater sting invaded every orifice, but though they feel like screaming, there’s still nothing that changes, neutrality keeping them captive with a vice grip.

Rhea’s throne is empty, and they are grateful for it, subtle warnings slight in their head.

When they reach the offices, it takes all of the will and desperation in their body (no longer theirs, not really) to knock on the door.

“Yes?” the voice behind it asks, more weary than a single man has any right to be. “Come in.”

The door creaks heavily as they push it open, wood cool against searching fingers, and it’s more grounding than any kind words. It’s real, unassailable, and there is something about the ancient structure that feels like the occupant himself.

“Seteth,” they say.

He understands without them having to fumble with words, and the silent redemption for crimes outside their control burns through Byleth’s veins, holy and absolute.

“How can I help you, professor?” he asks, and it’s a small mercy, because teaching had been the only time they felt real, the only time they had mattered, been tangible rather than whispered legends and secrets.

Even when they’re this tired, even when they want nothing more than to collapse against him - solid, dependable Seteth - they can’t. There is a part of the goddess that dwells in their skin that won’t allow this mercy. Instead, they sink into the chair across from him and say, “Who am I?”

“Byleth,” Seteth responds immediately, and though the answer should sound glib, there’s an unimaginable amount of comfort in that declaration.

“Not the Goddess?” they ask, and there’s both shame and relief in the obvious bitterness of their tone. “Not Sothis, arisen to make this world right with the wisdom of a deity?”

“Not really.” Seteth’s gaze is level but not without compassion, and the thought that someone can tell they’re hurting is blissful as the rain after a drought. “Whatever you may symbolize, whatever limitations you perceive in yourself, you are your own person above all.”

They remember a time when he would not have been so gentle, when he would have met this pitiful display of emotion with suspicion. To be given this, to think they might _deserve_ this...

“And who am I?” Byleth no longer knows.

Seteth reaches out a hand, and they latch onto it like they’re dying. “Unique. Wonderful. Compassionate. Strong. You don’t have to be normal to be valuable, professor.”

It’s a raw comfort, but it’s there all the same. They stand up, and perhaps it’s inevitable, this collision course that the two of them are on, but right now, they can’t bring themselves to care anymore.

Seteth is warm beneath their hands, wonderfully alive, and when they look at him, a question in their eyes, he is the answer mirrored back.

The softness of his mouth against theirs is pleasant, comforting like the sand between their toes had been. There is something about him that quiets the ocean in their chest, stilling the waters until they no longer overflow into their lungs.

They love him.

It’s an odd sensation, to feel something that strongly, but it’s more welcome than they ever could have imagined.

“I love you,” they say, trying the words out, lips tender from his touch.

Seteth smiles, and for a moment, Byleth swears their heart beats.

**Author's Note:**

> hmu on twitter @kingblaiddyd or fuel my caffeine addiction @akaschoene


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